


Venomous Tentaculas on Valentine's Day

by rowankhanna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Confessing Feelings, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 05:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10483116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowankhanna/pseuds/rowankhanna
Summary: Neville gets a mysterious Valentine's day note, and to take his mind off it, he goes to the greenhouse, only to find George Weasley wrestling a Venomous Tentacula, and is quickly pulled into the chaotic world of the younger Weasley twin.He finds that he loves it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I totally haven't read this over so sorry for any mistakes! I just wanted something really, really sweet. With Neville. Neville deserves love.

_I wish I could talk to you today. Or any day._

Neville turns the slip of paper over in his hands and frowns at it. It’s not the most typical Valentine’s day proposition: Angelina’s roses double every hour and while Neville was asked to have a look at it to see if he could stop it (which had made him swell with pride), he’d confirmed that it wasn’t the plant, it was a charm of some sort, so he couldn’t help at all. Hermione had been trying to sort it out ever since, but she was grumbling something about it being a rather excellently-cast and rare charm. Someone had bought George two tiny display bludgers and he’d spent most of the day tossing one into the bin across the room and bringing it back with a neat _accio_ , finding it gloriously amusing to occasionally thwack someone in the side of the head with it (he was apparently trying to figure out how to enchant them to work like real bludgers; “good for the shop,” he’d said). Harry is avoiding every edible present he got, and there are a lot of those; it makes Neville sad, seeing so much chocolate ruined.

But this isn’t anything special. This is a tiny slip of paper that had come flying as a songbird before unfolding itself in his hand, bluntly ignoring anyone else who tried to open it. It baffles Neville entirely: who would send it? And why can’t they talk to him? He’s hardly intimidating, for one, and he’s always around. He’s usually reliably in either the common room or the library, though he takes the occasional trip out to the greenhouses to help out Professor Sprout sometimes. He likes Herbology, and he likes his Mimbulus Mimbletonia (he calls it Algie after its donor), even if it stinks up the dorm sometimes. He’s easy to find, and he’s not scary, so what’s stopping his mysterious Valentine?

He folds up the piece of paper and slides it into his pocket as he heads for the greenhouses, probably the only place that’ll be empty. Even if there’s nothing to do, he just likes being there: he knows a lot about the plants, and likes to observe them.

He can hear something from within the greenhouse, and he frowns. He recognises the voice, but the voice belongs to exactly the sort of person who _doesn’t_ spend their time in greenhouses. “Fuck! _Diffindo_!” Neville starts: it’s never a good sign when someone is both swearing _and_ using a Severing Charm, and he darts into the greenhouse, only to see George Weasley wrestling with a Venomous Tentacula. He fumbles for his own wand, trying to remember one of the spells he was taught in the DA and hoping it’ll work this time.

“ _Stupefy_!” he tries, but when it hits, the plant only seems mildly irritated; however, this gives George enough time to cast a _diffindo_ to stun the creature and the time to scoot back, wiping at his forehead.

“Crikey,” he says, “that thing’s a nipper.”

“Yeah,” says Neville. “He’s venomous.” He reaches forward to pull George a little further back, not entirely convinced that the Tentacula has finished its assault. “What are you doing here? Those are really dangerous. You shouldn’t be messing with them.” He knows the message is probably lost on George, being George, but he feels like it’s worth a go anyway. He doesn’t like people messing with plants; nobody, he thinks, ever realises quite how much a plant could mess back.

“They’re on the curriculum,” he shrugs. Neville doesn’t quite believe this (firstly because he’s studying them in his Herbology classes, a whole year below George, and secondly because he’s not sure he’s ever seen either of the Weasley twins actually take studying seriously).

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying Valentine’s day with everyone else?” Neville questions, suspiciously. He feels a little bit like Percy Weasley, who never let either of the twins off the hook for anything, and always seemed to be trying to corner them. He doesn’t _want_ to corner George, but at the same time, if he can stop the twin from endangering himself, he’d like that.

George shrugs. “Well, Nev, despite being a _very_ eligible bachelor, I have yet to be approached by anyone. So I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Is it for the shop?”

“What?”

“What you’re doing. Is it for the business? You know, all that stuff you keep trying to fob off to me in the common room...”

“Fob off! Those are pieces of great beauty, Neville. A life’s work. Or two lives’ work. I am deeply offended by your insensitivity.” George clutches at his heart, and laughs, scratching at the short hair at the back of his head. “Fine. I’m here to try and get some seeds for some new products Fred and I have been cooking up. Happy now?”

Neville has to stop himself from nodding instinctively. “I – I can get them.”

George quirks an eyebrow. “You?”

“Yeah. I know how to handle the plants. I can get them and then you won’t have to worry about getting bitten.” He continues, feeling a little braver; George doesn’t look like he’s averse to the idea, and it gives him confidence. “I should have the seeds by the end of the week, and your Valentine won’t have to worry about you.”

George snickers. “If they really liked me, they’d tell me instead of just sending me tiny Bludgers. Asking people out is easy.”

“I wish,” Neville mutters. “I just got a note from someone saying they wish they could talk to me. It’s so secretive. I don’t like it. I wish people were just honest – I don’t ever know what anyone’s thinking anymore. It’s so complicated.”

“Isn’t it just, Neville, isn’t it just.” George reaches into one of the many pockets of his trousers (all of them have Undetectable Extension Charms cast to the nines, but he still appreciates the value of multiple pockets) and pulls out a neatly wrapped chocolate that he stole from one of the many chocolate boxes left unaccompanied in the common room.

“How do you know it isn’t... well, you know, spiked?” Neville asks, curious. George pulls a pocket Sneakoscope out of the pocket of his hoodie.

“Keep a couple on me,” he says with a proud grin. “Can’t trick the tricksters. Want one?”

“Sure,” says Neville, taking it, eager to try and avoid any of the twins’ tricks, though if George is giving him a Sneakoscope, clearly they don’t seem to have plans. “But, um, please don’t come and mess with the dangerous plants. If you need anything, I can get it for you.”

“Joining in on the rebellion, then, Neville?” George grins. Neville proffers his scarred hand; he’d barely even done anything, just not managed to finish copying the text as many times as Umbridge had wanted, and yet he had joined the ever-growing number of people in detention – more than once. George pauses to take it and squints at the scar, making a face. “That’s fresh. Have you tried Murtlap Essence?” Neville shakes his head. “Lee’s got some. Just ask.”

“If I can get near him,” Neville mumbles.

“Just catch him late.” George glances back at the door to the greenhouse and his face spreads with mischief; Neville almost wants to back away. “Hey, Nev. What’d you say to coming and helping me set off some fireworks outside?”

“Depends on how many detentions I’m going to get,” he replies with a little bit of a smile.

“If you place your full faith in me, none.”

Neville supposes that there’s nothing better to do; besides, he’s in the DA now. He wants to make something of himself. He wants people to stop looking down on him like there’s something wrong with him. So he nods, and George smirks and grabs his hand, bolting down the stairs and yelling “this is going to be wicked!” as they go, almost tripping Neville in his haste. They stop so that George can sneak the fireworks out in his bag (also holder of an Undetectable Extension Charm; they’ve been almost second nature to him ever since he learned them) and then head out into the vast expanses of Hogwarts’s exterior. It’s cold, and Neville shrugs his coat closer around his shoulders and George pulls his hat down a little further, cackling like an old witch as he goes. Neville has to stifle his own laughter.

“Okay, if we set it off here, it can be seen from the most windows,” George says intelligently. “Do you want to set it or should I?”

“I’ll probably muck it up,” Neville says, shaking his head.

“Rubbish,” George insists. “You’re a Herbology whizz. It’s just an _incendio_. C’mon.”

“Well, alright,” Neville says, pulling out his wand and wishing for the best. “But don’t blame me if it goes wrong.” He tries to imagine that he’s back in Herbology, learning the best way to deal with some plants, and he shuts his eyes, points, and whispers “ _incendio!_ ” with as much force as he can muster, which turns out to be a lot, as flame roars across the surface of the firework.

“Bloody brilliant!” George laughs, grabbing his hand again and dashing out of the way, ducking behind one of the pillars. “There’s a pathway back into the school just behind us. We can afford to enjoy the view for a while; Filch is always slow getting anywhere.”

Neville watches the explosion of lights up in the sky with a smile. They’re nothing more special than the usual Muggle fireworks, but they spin and burst and rain colours and Neville has always liked fireworks, really, so long as he’s not too close. He doesn’t notice in his awe that George is still holding his hand, or that George is looking at him rather than the fireworks, and barely even notices what’s going on when George says “it was me”.

He turns and looks over, not quite paying attention. “What?”

“I sent you the note. Bit shitty, and the songbird was boring, but I didn’t want it to look like it was me. I just didn’t think I could approach you because Fred and Lee would take the absolute piss, but you know, fuck them. I like you. I think you’re great. And I just told you it was easy to ask someone out, so I’m doing it, because you’re here, and you’re just really cute.”

Neville takes a moment to really understand what’s just been said, and just as he’s about to open his mouth to try and formulate some kind of reply, George yanks him behind another pillar and through a trapdoor he’s never even seen before into a corridor of the castle that he’s never been in. He’s about to set off and rejoin the rest of the Gryffindors (there’s no proof it’s him; he knows they can’t get him, and he knows it’ll frustrate Umbridge no end) when Neville lets go of his hand and yanks on his sleeve.

“Wait, George,” he says. George is quite impressed that Neville knows it’s him. “Are you serious? You’re not pulling my leg?”

George shrugs. “These kind of jokes aren’t very tasteful.”

“Oh.” Neville isn’t sure what to say; the idea that anyone could have feelings for him baffles him to a large extent, and the idea that George Weasley, resident prankster king and very popular person could like him is impossible to accept. But he likes George, too: George is nice, and he appreciates George’s help in cheering everyone up in such a horrible time, and hell, being turned into a canary was funny. He’d do it again if it made people happy. And he likes the way that George smiles: he has a completely radiant smile. He really does like everything about George. And he likes that George sees him; most people don’t seem particularly aware of Neville’s existence, which he supposes he’s okay with if it means that nobody bothers him, but George talks to him sometimes, and has even taken him out like this. It’s sweet.

He’s not really sure what to do right now. Anyone else might kiss George, but he’s not anyone else. “I’ve never...”

“Been with anyone?” George shrugs. “Me neither. Everyone was so busy assuming I was straight, all the guys forgot to ask me out.”

“No offence, but you do kinda seem straight.”

“Think about what you just said, Neville. Think about it _really hard_. Do I really?”

Neville thinks about it for a grand total of several seconds.

“Not really.”

“Exactly!”

George can tell that Neville is too busy fretting and thinking to do anything, so he takes a few steps forward, brushes some of Neville’s hair behind his ear, and kisses him. It’s incredibly underwhelming, mostly because he’s unsure what to do with himself and Neville is no better, and he laughs when he leans back. “Ever feel like Celestina Warbeck has been lying to us all our lives, Nev?”

“I don’t know,” says Neville. “I liked that.”

“Oh, good. That makes one of us, at least.” George grins when he goes in to kiss Neville again, and this time is a little better and they kiss a little deeper, smiling against each other because, for once, Neville doesn’t feel out of his depth: George is just as inexperienced as he is, and he doesn’t care if their kissing is abysmal, because they have plenty time to practice. George breaks away. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s hurry back up so we don’t seem suspicious. We can continue upstairs.” He winks, and Neville takes his hand and squeezes it, following George along the matrix of corridors that he seems to navigate with relative ease (Neville has never quite gotten used to the corridors, or the changing stairs, and gets lost all the time) until they blend in with the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs plastered up against the windows to watch the fireworks, whooping with glee.

“There you are, George!” Lee calls, pushing in to join them, rubbing his hands together. “Umbridge is _furious_ , and she’s got nobody to pin this on.”

“Wicked,” says Neville, and Lee looks over at him, surprised, but he shrugs. Nobody likes Umbridge, except perhaps Draco Malfoy, and he supposes that, since he’s seen Neville around in detentions, he has just as much reason to hate her. Neville goes red when he realises what he’s said, and George guffaws, patting him on the back.

“You should join us, Nev,” Lee says excitedly. “We’re trying to come up with something to do, something that’s really going to get to Umbridge and really annoy her. Go out with a bang. We’re trying to get Seamus on board to blow some stuff up for us.”

“I don’t know,” Neville says, running his fingers over his newly forming scar.

Lee nods, glancing down at his hand. “Yeah, no worries, mate. Listen, I’ve got some Murtlap Essence back in the dorms; it really helps.”

“Maybe later,” says George. “We’re going to go sneak some food from the kitchens first. Want anything?”

“Are we?” Neville looks dazed, following along as George drags him towards the kitchen. “Well, suppose it couldn’t hurt...” Lee requests anything sweet that isn’t spiked with any kind of love potion, and as Neville follows along with George, he thinks he could get used to this chaos. It’s fun: George just ignores the fact that the school is in a crisis with a tyrannical leader and gets on with his hijinks anyway.

“Thought I should get you some proper food,” George says cheerily. “An actual Valentine’s treat.”

“You don’t have to.”

George shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

The house elves are more than happy to oblige as George swaps trinkets with them, and Neville is pleased that nobody seems to notice his re-entry into the common room; it’s busy with people kissing and eating chocolates and celebrating and he has to move aside as someone is dragged off to Madam Pomfrey, but it’s a blessing, because when he curls up with George on one of the sofas, nobody seems to notice at all as they share cake with each other (which also means the more for them, Neville supposes). George clasps Neville’s hand in his own and unconsciously runs his thumb along Neville’s knuckles, over and over, surprisingly soothingly.

“George,” says Neville. “Are you _sure_ you’re not joking?”

George laughs softly. “I’m sure. Are _you_ sure?”

Neville looks at his hands. “No.”

With a snort, George reaches over and takes Neville’s cheek in his hand and kisses him again, in full view of everyone. Someone wolf-whistles, and Neville is bright pink when George leans back, grinning like it’s his birthday (though his birthday is never that great, considering he’s forced to share it). “Are you sure now?”

“Maybe,” says Neville. “I think I’ll take more convincing.”

George cracks up. “I don’t mind. I’m happy to convince you.”

Neville smiles. Maybe the rest of this year won’t be so bad, after all, especially if it’s one with George.


End file.
